My Heart is a Kaleidoscope
by diddykongfan
Summary: Gremma AU; Sailor Moon Fusion. In which, on her 28th birthday, Emma Swan is told that she's actually a Guardian of Love and Justice, meant to find the lost Princess and help her to break the curse on a town called Storybrooke. With the help of her fellow guardians and the mysterious Tuxedo Mask, she fights monsters and the evil Queen Regina under the guise of Sailor Moon!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: OUAT/Sailor Moon Fusion. The "Emma and Graham are Sailor Moon and Tuxedo Mask" AU that has consumed my soul, _(my heart is a kaleidoscope)_ is the first arc out of four that I have loosely planned, this arc in particular focusing on a combination of SM's Dark Kingdom arc and OUAT's s1 Dark Curse arc. This chapter is the most OUAT-canon-heavy of them, drawing from 1x01 Pilot, and it also draws the most directly from the beginnings of Sailor Moon, as well, in order to really push the changes into gear and kick off the AU.**

 **Also available on my tumblr; chapter one was published there 11/9/17.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own OUAT, and I don't own Sailor Moon. I mean, come on, if I _did_ I could at least make all my OTPs canon, am I right?**

Emma Swan has no memories before waking in the woods at age 14, with four other girls who had the same problem – they all five knew their names, but nothing else.

She hasn't seen any of those girls since they were all put in foster care and split up.

And she hasn't let anyone close since she was 16 and she thought that– well. It doesn't matter what she'd thought. She had been wrong. Painfully so. But it's been a lonely 12 years, in the meantime, and as she blows out the candle on the cheap cupcake she bought herself, she lets the inkling of a wish expel with her breath.

And then there's a knock on the door, her head snapping towards the sound.

If she _believed_ , in _anything_ , she might think that some force up there was somehow granting the wish she may have sort of just made ( _please not another birthday alone_ ). But she _doesn't_ believe, so – she's not sure what to think. Someone at the wrong apartment, probably ( _it'll be another birthday alone, won't it?_ ).

And she opens the door to see a _kid._

( _Clean. Not malnourished. Nice quality clothes. Kid comes from money. Although, as far as anyone could tell when they were found, the same could be said for her and the other girls. Still, no one ever did figure out who they actually were._ )

"Um… Can I help you?" she asks. It has to be a wrong door. There's no other explanation. Other than that, she's still trying to figure out how she should proceed. There's a kid, at her door, and that is not something that generally happens.

And if the appearance of a child at her doorstep wasn't strange enough – "Are you Emma Swan?" – looking for her. No parents in sight. Just the kid, and the bag on his back.

"Yeah. Who are you?" There's no sense denying, no matter how confused she may be. And giving an answer is probably the only way she'll _get_ answers in return, so-

"My name's Henry. I'm your son," he announces. Like it's obvious.

For a moment, she doesn't say anything, too stunned to react. The kid seems to take her hesitation as an invitation, brushing past her into the room. _So_ not what she was hoping would happen – not that she quite knows what she was hoping would happen. Maybe that she'd blink and this whole thing would be a figment of her imagination?

Finally, her brain catches up to her situation, and she attempts to take control of whatever this is that's going on here – "Whoa! Hey, kid? Kid? Kid?" As she follows him into the room, she lets the door close – she isn't about to let any prying neighbors in on this business, if she can't help it. "I don't have a son." Or anyone else, for that matter, no parents, no friends, no one. She doesn't have anyone. And as far as she's aware, that's how it's always been. "Where are your parents?"

"Ten years ago, did you give a baby up for adoption?" The exactness of his tone makes her pause. He came here knowing what he was doing, that's for sure. Still, she's not a mother. She gave that up. Tried to make sure that there was no way that the baby could find her. Hoped that he would never want to, that the family that adopted him would be enough. "That was me." Ten years and a handful of months. He'll be going on 11, won't he? But she needs – she can't confront this, not yet.

"Give me a minute," she requests, and then, though she's not proud of it, she shuts herself in the bathroom.

( _This can't be happening. She couldn't be a mother – not back then. And now? No, she doesn't have that right any more. Signed it away._ )

( _This is happening. He found her, somehow. Despite every precaution she took with the closed adoption_.)

( _This can't be happening. Why would it be? He was supposed to get a good life, a loving family. He was supposed to never wonder or care about her._ )

"Hey, do you have any juice?"

( _This is happening. There is a kid on her doorstep that says he's…_ )

"Never mind. Found some."

( _This is actually happening. Even though it can't. Even though she has to put an end to it, as soon as possible. Biology aside, she doesn't have a son._ )

When she's pulled herself together enough to _try_ and face this, she exits the bathroom to find the kid – Henry – drinking her orange juice straight out of the bottle. She's adopted her best stern-and-stoic expression, no-nonsense. But before she can say anything, try, once more, to take control of the situation, the kid smiles at her.

"We should probably get going."

"Going where?"

"I want you to come home with me," he requests, and, no. She's not – she's not doing this. She doesn't need to be forced to intrude on a life that's _got_ to be better than anything she could have given the kid. She was nobody, back then, a lonely teenager who had nothing, who was in _jail_. Couldn't have been a mother then, had no life to give the baby. She isn't a mother _now_ , not just because the kid walked into her apartment saying he was her son, like that makes it all cut-and-dry. No, now, she's still nobody, still gets the feeling every day that she's… Nothing. That her entire sense of identity – tenuous as it is, sometimes, with the missing years – is worthless.

"Okay, kid. I'm calling the cops." In a few strides, she's across the room, phone already in her hand.

"Then I'll tell them that you kidnapped me," the boy states, no hesitation.

And at that, she pauses. "And they'll believe you, because I'm your birth mother."

"Yep." He seems awfully pleased with himself, like he knows for a fact he's won whatever game it is he thinks he's playing, barging into her life like this – but she's not exactly as fooled as he seems to think she is.

"You're not gonna do that," she declares, confident. Of course, he meets her with confidence of his own –

"Try me."

She lets herself smile, for a moment. Because here, she finally has him. Finally has the upper hand.

"You're pretty good. But here's the thing, there's not a lot that I'm great at in life. But I have _one_ skill. Let's call it a super power. I can tell when anyone is lying. And you, kid? Are."

She starts to dial, but then, in a tone much more deflated than before- "Wait. Please don't call the cops. Please. Come home with me."

And somehow, all at once, she can feel her resolve crumble.

"Where's home?"

"Storybrooke, Maine."

…

The kid has a book, it turns out.

Well, the backpack probably should have given that away, but give her a break for a second? She was a little busy _freaking out about the kid finding her_ to consider what was in his bag.

It's a book of fairy tales, from the looks of it, and he's reading it pretty intently while they're on the road.

Maybe it's a bad idea, because she's _trying_ to remain detached, so that she can get this over with and go back to her life, the reason that she's calling him _kid_ instead of _Henry_ , trying to _think_ in the same terms, but – she tries to engage him about the book anyway, asking "What's that?"

( _It's going to be a long couple hours either way, but she'd maybe rather it wasn't a long uncomfortable silence._ )

"I'm not sure you're ready."

Well, _that's_ not cryptic or anything.

"Not ready for some fairy tales?"

"They're not fairy tales. They're true. Every story in this book actually happened."

"Of course they did." Her sarcasm is half-muttered, under her breath, but the kid calls her out on it.

"Use your super power. See if I'm lying."

It doesn't feel like the kid is lying, but it wouldn't. If he's really convinced of something like that, then to him… It is true.

But that doesn't make it _true_. There's a difference. There's always been a difference. She's gotten pretty good at understanding that much.

"Just because you believe something doesn't make it true."

"That's exactly what makes it true. You should know more than anyone."

 _What? No, that's not how it works. Not at all. People believe things that aren't true all the time. She had believed that the nice woman from the state would be able to find out where she had come from, how she had gotten to the woods with no memories – that was what the woman had said, when they'd talked. It'd never happened. She had believed that Neal was a good person, who loved her, who wouldn't abandon her. Clearly, that hadn't been true._

 _If there's something she knows more than anyone, it's that believing something doesn't make it true. That you can believe and be so very wrong._

"Why is that?"

"Because you're in this book." He says it so confidently she almost believes him, for a moment. After all, there was that chunk of time that she can't remember, everything before that day in the woods. Still… Whatever happened back then, whoever she was, she has a hard time believing that it would be in a book of fairy tales.

"Oh, kid. You've got problems."

"Yep. And you're gonna fix 'em."

She pauses. _Her? Fix the kid's problems? No._

"And how is that?" she asks, though she's not sure she wants to know the answer.

He digs around in his bag again, and after a few moments he pulls out a round, golden… What is that, a brooch? A compact? Whatever it is, it's engraved with a crescent moon shape and inlaid with four small jewels in different colors around the edges, and fits in the palm of his hand.

"You're Sailor Moon," he declares. "And you're gonna find the other Guardians, and the Princess, and you're all gonna break the curse."

Maybe he was right when he said she wasn't ready for the answer. She isn't sure whether she wants to simply scoff at the notion of her being some sort of… Curse-breaking Guardian? Or something? Or if she wants to laugh at the idea. It's completely ridiculous, after all.

But, she isn't heartless, doesn't really want to hurt the kid's feelings by dismissing him in this outright. So she doesn't laugh. Instead, she tries to gain a little more insight into this… _Theory_ , or whatever it would technically be called. Tries, once more, despite herself, to engage with the kid.

"And what's that thing in your hand got to do with all of that?"

"It's a transformation brooch. It'll help you unlock your powers. I don't know _exactly_ what they are, but you'll see."

…

She's almost to the town line when she spots that the kid left his book and the shining golden "transformation brooch" in her car. She would applaud his nerve, even lets herself grin at the sneaky move, because, hey, it is a little impressive. It's bold, and she can appreciate that. Even if it _is_ boldness being used against her.

And then there's a wolf in the road, and she's swerving to avoid it when things go black.

…

When she finds the kid at the playground by the shore, his "castle" as his teacher called it, she tries to reason with him. Tries to explain that – that there's no way that she's in some book of fairy tales. That she's _real_.

She's a little surprised when he shoves the brooch back at her, shouting a challenge.

" _Prove it, then! Prove you aren't Sailor Moon. Try and transform. Say the words. If nothing happens, fine! But try first!_ "

The metal is warm in her hand, the weight of the object _almost_ familiar. She pushes _that_ thought aside, raising the object above her head, before reciting the words the kid had shown her in his book. They're pretty much random, the words that make the supposed phrase of power, but if shouting them out will prove there's no such thing as magic and curses, simple as that, well, then, she'll say them.

" **Moon Prism Power, Make-Up!** "

She's not expecting the ribbons of warm light that envelop her the moment the last syllable has passed her lips, and yet, she experiences them anyway. The feeling doesn't last long, but that something happens at all is enough to prove her wrong, isn't it?

She's… Sailor Moon. Whatever that actually means.

Looking down at the outfit she's suddenly wearing doesn't do much to inspire faith in herself, though. Short skirt, ribbons everywhere. Elbow length white gloves, every material on the outfit something light and, unless she's mistaken, something that would be susceptible to damage in a fight – not that she knows for sure there will be fighting involved in this whole thing, but what else would a "Guardian" do, if not fight to protect someone or something? The boots feel sturdy enough, at least, and the heels would probably hurt someone if she kicked them.

Also, reaching up to her forehead she feels that she's wearing a _tiara_.

Looking back at the kid only means seeing that he's grinning like the cat that ate the canary, unfortunately.

( _Unfortunate because it means he sees the new outfit too and knows he was right – or at the very least onto something – obviously._ )

"Okay," she starts, cautious of being too encouraging, as of yet. Just because something happened doesn't mean she's ready to just accept it yet, ready to uproot herself from her life in Boston for _this._

Not when she doesn't really understand, yet, what _this_ even is.

"I still don't know what it is you expect me to _do_ , with all of this," she gestures to the outfit, "Shiny new clothes don't do that much in the way of bestowing knowledge and powers."

"The Evil Queen wanted to hurt Snow White," Henry opens his book, turning it to face her so that she sees one of the illustrations that grace its pages. "So she allied with an ancient and spiteful being to create a curse, a curse that would take away everyone's memories and happy endings, except for hers. There was a prophecy, though, that Snow White's daughter, the princess, and her four Guardians would be able to fight back, to _break_ the curse. So the five of them were trained, until they were fourteen. But then the Queen was finally ready to cast the curse, so the Blue Fairy used the _very last_ magic bean in order to send the Princess and the Guardians through to the Land Without Magic before the curse could affect them too. But it must not have worked right, because you and the other four didn't know about that, right? If you already knew you would've believed me without transforming."

He turns the page, and the last illustration – that _is_ her, and the others who were with her that day in the woods. Even if she didn't recognize herself, recognize them, she would remember those outfits that they were found in, the dresses and cloaks that she had quickly realized were not exactly normal, everyday wear for most people. So–

"You can come and go from Storybrooke. So you can go and find the other Guardians and the Princess, and- And until we figure out where they are, you can stay here and fight the monsters."

 _What._

"You didn't say anything about monsters before, care to explain that part?"

"It's the being that the Evil Queen was working with. _Metallia_. It sends out these creatures, 'cause it needs them to collect human life energy so that it can sustain itself in this world. Only the Guardians, like you, have the power to stop them. The people in this town are getting hurt, every night, and they don't even know it because the day just sort of repeats all the time."

The shriek that sounds at that exact moment sounds as close as though it might be directly in her ear, and that does make her cringe – causing Henry to look at her strangely.

"Did you hear that scream?" she asks – the only explanation she has for him.

"No," he shakes his head. "But I'm not the super hero, here. Maybe you should follow the sound, someone might be in trouble."

Hard to follow a sound that, even when it repeats, feels like it's practically on top of her.

But she supposes she has to try, doesn't she? Has to see if there's- If this is-

If the kid is right, this, whatever this whole Sailor Moon thing is, the fighting monsters and finding princesses and all of it – somehow, it's connected to her past. Connected to the mystery she's never fully been able to set aside – _who was Emma Swan, before that day, where did I come from?_

So, is she positive she's going to stay?

No.

But she's already standing in this town, in the most impractical outfit she's _ever_ worn, and, well, it can't do much harm to _try_ , can it? To give this whole "Guardian" thing a test run before coming to a decision?

Probably can't hurt. Too much, anyway.

So, when the shriek sounds a third time, she lets her instincts guide her, turning on her heels in a quick spin before running in that direction. Her stride is more powerful in her transformed state, she realizes; she's covering far more ground, quickly, than she would normally consider herself capable of.

That is, obviously, _nothing_ compared to the moment her instincts cause her to leap onto a rooftop and then across the town at that level, taking a shortcut she wouldn't have dreamed possible. When she finally alights on the ground again, she's in front of a jewelry store – signs proclaiming massive and frankly unrealistic discounts in the windows, though that's not nearly alarming as the sight _through_ said windows, the number of unconscious women on the floor.

And the young girl cowering in the corner as a taller figure advances on her. On first glance, it appears to be a saleswoman, but a little bit closer look would be enough to see _talons_ instead of fingernails. Looming over the kid, poised to strike.

And she knows she can't let that happen.

So, yes. She is in fact still running on power-driven instinct when she nearly knocks the door off its hinges, letting out an angry cry of _stop right there!_

It gets the attention of the woman with the claw-hands, at least, draws her away from the kid.

She doesn't have a plan, though. And that is probably not a good thing.

"So the Sailor Guardians have finally arrived to fight the Queens," the woman says, looking her up and down, assessing. "It will be Morga's pleasure to deliver you to them in pieces!" In an instant, one clawed hand shoots forward, attempting to rake across her stomach and gut her. She's fortunate for the increased agility and speed that the costume came with, allowing her to dodge backwards with ease.

Still no plan, as she continues to dodge Morga's assault, ducking and weaving her way through the shop, attempting not to step on anyone, but at least the focus is on her, not the kid. The kid that she really hopes will run soon, instead of staying in the corner petrified.

It's probably about five minutes of that before the people on the floor rise, jerking like puppets. Their eyes don't open, they don't make a sound, they just advance, boxing her in, as Morga smiles, revealing rows of sharp teeth.

Somehow, Morga is controlling her victims. And every Sailor-instinct that Emma is trying to follow pulls hard against the idea of fighting her way through the innocents.

And then Morga is reaching a claw out to strike her again, and she lets out a _scream_ of pure frustration as a – is that a _rose?_ It is, it's a rose – as a rose streaks through the air, piercing the creature's hand, causing it to withdraw from the strike it was about to make, as the unconscious victims to drop again.

"Now would be a good time to do something, I'd think" a voice says from the shadows, a glance in that direction revealing a man in a tuxedo, top hat, cape, and mask standing there, holding on to a rose very much like the one that just came out of nowhere.

She nods at him, despite still not knowing what she's going to do. The instincts that came with the transformation haven't led her wrong yet. Takes a deep breath, even though she doesn't hardly have time –

And reaches up to the tiara, which jumps into her hand. Pours her intent into it, causing it to glow golden, and then, pulls back her arm like she's about to throw a Frisbee, and calls out a new set of words, unsure where she got them but knowing they're right –

" **Moon Tiara Boomerang!** "

The tiara is off like a shot, connecting with the monster in a flash of light, and when the light fades, the tiara is back on her forehead and there's nothing but a pile of dust where Morga had stood.

The man is gone from his place in the shadows, and the women on the floor are groaning and starting to come to. The girl comes up to her quickly, though, tugging on her skirt, looking up at her in awe. "Who are you?" she asks.

And Emma says the only thing she can.

"I'm Sailor Moon, the Guardian of Love and Justice."


	2. Chapter 2

**chapter 2 originally posted on tumblr 11/21/17; draws slightly from OUAT 1x02 The Thing You Love Most, but after this we're all AU.**

 _Mysterious Attack on Local Store_

 _Last night, at the jewelers on Maple Lane, multiple witnesses reported a strange woman attacking them in what is presumed to be an attempted robbery. No official description of the attacker has been released, nor has there yet been anything reported missing. Credit for stopping the attack has been given to an unknown savior calling herself Sailor Moon…_

She made the front page of the paper.

It was hardly her intention, and yet— There it is, staring her in the face. There's even a _picture_. It's grainy as hell, her face impossible to make out, but it's still there. To be fair, people getting attacked _is_ news, probably pretty major news in a small town like this, but still – where had that picture even _come_ from? She hadn't seen any cameras around. And the angle isn't right for a security camera in the store itself, not that the police would be likely to release any images from that this soon after the incident. Especially not if they were still investigating to see if anything had actually been stolen, like the paper claimed the incident was supposed to have been.

If she was anyone in this town, some random person who didn't know exactly what had happened, she would at the very least suspect herself of being either the attacker or the one to fend them off – being a total stranger whose arrival coincided with this happening, and all. Which is why it's a surprise, then, that not one person has given her so much as an obvious second glance all morning, as she had made her way from the B&B to the diner, sat herself at the counter and picked up someone else's discarded newspaper. But, she hasn't even heard a whisper about it, about the incident at all, despite its status as front page news — though if Henry is right about _everything_ and his adoptive mother _was_ the Evil Queen to cast the curse, her visit to Emma's room with a basket of apples and a thinly-veiled "get out of town" may indicate that she, of all the people in town to have possibly caught on, at least suspects. Also, it hasn't exactly been long, and she hasn't exactly encountered many people as of yet. It very likely _is_ gossip, and it's entirely possible the reason she hasn't heard about it from any word of mouth is exactly _because_ she's the stranger in town.

Beyond that, she has other things on her mind, and it is just as entirely possible that the reason she hasn't heard anything is because she's been too distracted by her thoughts to listen as well as she should.

Because, well, truth be told, Emma's still considering the possibility of getting out of town rather than letting herself get drawn in deeper. While the power of the transformation was undeniable, while this place is clearly a link to her unknown past… There's something terrifying about the possibility of knowing. And, obviously, about the possibility of facing more things like Morga.

Alone.

There were four other girls in the woods that day; four people to find. Three more Guardians, and a princess. But until then? Unless the mystery man in formalwear shows up again, she's on her own.

Not exactly an appealing thought.

But if she doesn't stay, then what?

The attacks aren't going to _stop_ just because she's not fighting; leaving will get people hurt. And as much as she's not a mother, she couldn't in good conscience leave the kid in the town where these attacks are happening, where he might get hurt, and _he_ would never forgive her if she kidnapped him and ran. And that's what it would be, kidnapping – not exactly something off her bucket list.

Meaning, logically, that she's stuck here, in this place, fighting this fight that she didn't even believe in less than 24 hours ago.

Staying.

At least, until she can figure out where the other girls went, figure out how to find them and convince them to come and fight alongside her, even though all they had was first names. She knows the best place to start looking is at her own records, but she hardly knows which of the others to start with, does she?

She sets the paper aside with a sigh, hands going to her temples as a headache begins to build. Overthinking and stressing herself out isn't about to help anyone, here. Instead, she focuses on what she can do most easily, first. Find a place to stay more long term than Granny's, and find a way to make money to live on in the meantime. She didn't fail to notice that fighting monsters came with no monetary incentive, and there doesn't exactly seem to be call for much bail-bonds work around this area of Maine.

Two achievable goals.

One step at a time.

…

He doesn't remember when he found Storybrooke, exactly. He knows it's been a while, since he arrived, but something about the town makes the days blur by, indistinguishable.

When he found it, he had been following the dreams he's had since the day he woke in the forest, no memories, but instinctive knowledge in wilderness survival, like he'd been doing it all his life.

The dreams had been constant, a girl in shadow that he felt like he _knew_ asking for his help.

The only constant, even as he had been found in that forest and taken in, at least for a few days, by the vacationing couple that found him. After that, it had been a revolving door of people, speaking when they thought he couldn't hear about the coincidence of the timing and how at least the girls had _names_.

 _All these amnesiac kids in the woods_ , one had said, like they were all nothing but an inconvenience. As much as he had suspected, though, that one of those girls being spoken of, the ones who had names, must be the one from his dream, he had known he would have no way to find them. Instead, he had let himself drift – get through the schooling that the authority figures had insisted upon, and then… Try and find her by instinct.

The dreams hadn't stopped or changed at all when he arrived in Storybrooke, but he still hadn't been able to bring himself to leave – and now it's been… He doesn't quite know how long. He's stuck to the woods, because he has an easier time of it away from people, but he's still stuck around Storybrooke much longer than he intended.

But today, for the first time in a long time, his head feels almost clear as he lets his feet carry him closer into the heart of the town than he usually ventures. There's something different, happening, an almost-imperceptible shift in the air.

A change.

And the first obvious manifestation of that change he encounters is the clock tower about the shuttered library— moving, running, ticking away like it was never stopped.

It's been stopped as long as he's been here.

Whatever changed, it must have been powerful, to make that happen.

He's perhaps distracted, by the obvious change and by the clarity like he's not felt in a long time, when the mayor's kid – he thinks it's the mayor's kid, anyway – who is walking with a stranger, takes an apple from his companion and throws it without so much as looking where. And, somehow, it manages to hit him in the foot.

" _Henry,_ " the blonde woman hisses, stopping in her tracks. The kid pauses too, before he turns to follow her gaze to him and where the apple now lays before him.

"Oh," the boy lets out. "Um, I'm sorry, sir."

Truth be told, he doesn't quite know how to react. Despite the years of interacting with people that he _can_ remember, since that couple found him, he's simply… Not good at it. He's fairly certain that it has something to do with why he's so at home in the woods, but having suspicions about the root of the problem does nothing to mitigate the effects.

Still, it was obviously an accident, not intentional.

"It's alright. Maybe pay a bit more attention to where you're throwing things next time."

And then they continue to walk on, the boy talking animatedly about how _things are going to start changing now that you're here_ , and he can't help but wonder if… If it's that simple. If the palpable changes in the air are simply because that woman has arrived in town.

But no, it can't be. Can it?

…

When he finds her in the morning, Henry seems surprised to see that she didn't run off and leave town in the middle of the night.

She had promised that she wouldn't – it had been the only way to get the kid to go _home_ , for the time being, since, actual real-live monster aside, his adoptive mother would be quick to realize if she took him, or, more accurately, if she let him stay with her. So she had promised to stay the night and think about longer. The kid wouldn't know it, yet, but she'd booked a room for a week.

A _week_. She fights one monster and decides that a _week_ is a suitable length of time to completely change her life – move to Storybrooke, find a job, become a hero.

She is _screwed_ , isn't she? And by no one's hand but her own.

(Well. Her own, and the hand of whoever was in charge of handing out Magical Guardian Powers and picked _her_ for the job. How _did_ that happen? What was it that had qualified her to be Sailor Moon? There must have been _something_ , right? Some special quality that she had possessed – even as a child, because Henry had said that the book mentioned them _training_ , for _years_ – that meant she was the best choice. Now, she can't even imagine what that would have been.)

"So I think we should start with Sailor Mercury," Henry says, when they're almost to the gates of the school. "She's the Guardian of Wisdom, so she'll probably be really good to have around to help."

"And do _you_ have an idea which of the girls that came through with me _is_ Mercury? Because I'm pretty sure that I can't look her up by that name just yet."

"Okay, _no_ ," he admits. "Not _actually_. But if I had to guess? You all came from a _fairy tale world_. If I was going to pick a Guardian of Wisdom based off of fairy tales, I would choose Belle."

 _Belle._

Yeah, that was the name of one of the others. The shy brunette who had read every book the people from the state had been willing to give her, who had been the one to ask what they were talking about when they asked if some of them had picked their names from Disney movies just to screw with the search to find out where they actually came from. The rest of them had been just as confused by the statement, and perhaps even more offended by the implication that they would lie about the one thing they remembered, but only Belle had actually had the curiosity to ask what a _Disney movie_ even was. Or at least, the only one who cared enough to act on that curiosity. _Wisdom_ probably isn't a bad guess, for her, and, well, it is a place to start.

They need a good place to start. Or any place to start.

She's still mulling it over when Henry joins the throng of other students, when his teacher makes her way over to Emma's side, intent on a chat if the look in her eyes is anything to go by. The woman had seemed nice, kind, yesterday, and as far as Emma can _tell_ , she cares about Henry. Every word she'd spoken had been sincere, at the least.

(And, throughout the conversation, Emma had felt a nagging sense of _familiarity_. Like she should or did know the woman. Still feels it now.)

"You stayed," Mary Margaret says, but nothing about it is a question. It's not even _surprised_ , not in the least.

"I stayed." Emma confirms. Not much of a conversation starter, but then, neither was the not-question.

"It'll be good for him," the teacher says, smiling, "Having you in his life. He's— Yesterday, I told you about how he's lonely. Staying for him, even if it's only a little while, if he sees that you're willing to do that for him… Maybe it'll help him open up to others."

It's a pretty sentiment. And it's not a question or a condemnation or even an assumption that her presence in Storybrooke is permanent – and because it's none of those things, it's not as uncomfortable as it could be, otherwise. Still, there's not a lot of places she can go with it, conversation-wise, and Mary Margaret is _lingering_ , like she feels like there's something to be said between them.

Emma doesn't know what it could be, but, she does know something else – this is an adult that Henry trusts. Someone who knows where he runs away to, who didn't even seem angry that he'd stolen her credit card.

As much as she's been forced to believe in the things he got out of that book, there's something else that's bothering her about it, and maybe this could be the person to ask.

"Do you know… His fairy tale thing?"

Regina had been clueless as to what she was talking about two nights ago, when she thought she was just returning the kid and leaving. But, since she _might_ be the Evil Queen – okay, _probably is_ – who caused all this mess, it makes sense that Henry would keep it from her. Maybe Mary Margaret…

"Yes, I do," she agrees. "What about it?"

"He got it from that book, right? Do you know where he got the _book_ from?"

"It was here," the teacher's face looks thoughtful. "In my classroom. It was sitting on his desk one morning, about a month ago. I'm still not _entirely_ sure how he convinced me to let him actually keep it without knowing where it came from, but… I looked over it. It seemed like just a regular book of fairy tales to me. And fairy tales are about _hope_ , and he needed hope so much. I didn't expect him to start telling me that I'm Snow White and I've been cursed not to remember it."

 _Snow White._

That would, according to the story as Henry's been telling it, make her the mother of the princess that Emma's supposed to be finding. Would mean that the last time this woman saw her child, she would have been a teenage _kid_ , and now… And now that same girl will be a grown woman. A grown woman who'll have made some sort of life for herself out in the world beyond Storybrooke – who knows what kind of life, but a life all the same.

It also probably means that Emma would have known her, before… All of this. When she was training, with the other girls – if she's a Guardian to the Princess, she would have to know the princess' mother, wouldn't she? Which neatly explains that sense of familiarity that's been bothering her – though it still persists, like she hasn't quite connected all the dots just yet.

"It's…" She can't let on that she believes without risking people thinking she's crazy. And considering that the whole _Guardian_ thing comes with a costume and a code name, she's going to edge towards _secret identity_ , with it. "It's a very creative theory." The words might _sound_ disbelieving, but they're not dismissive. Or at least, she doesn't mean them to be. She just… She knows that she has to protect what secrecy they have in this whole… _Operation Rabbit_ , as Henry termed it.

"He's a creative kid," Mary Margaret agrees, nodding. "And that is something I like encouraging, it's just, believing in this _curse_ thing…"

Wouldn't seem healthy to someone who hadn't transformed into a Guardian of Love and Justice and fought off a monster with a tiara. Yeah. The teacher doesn't even need to finish saying the words.

"You probably have to get to class, though," Emma says, changing the subject, if not particularly deftly. "And I have some things I need to take care of, too, so. I'll let you go."

…

The only sound that echoes out is her own heels clicking across the stone floor of the vault in the mausoleum she keeps as a shrine to Daniel.

The curse, as Rumplestiltskin had given it to her, called for a sacrifice – the heart of the thing you love most. Her beloved steed hadn't been enough, he'd said, when she had demanded to know why the curse hadn't worked the first time she had attempted to cast it, as he implied that _thing_ meant _person_.

A sacrifice she had been unable to make, as his heart had already been crushed to dust in her mother's hands, was the entire reason she had set out to take Snow's happiness with this curse in the first place.

She had been unwilling to find out if her father's heart would make for an acceptable substitute, and so she had sought out a being more powerful than even the imp – _Metalia._ The Demon Queen. The trip to Metalia's frozen waste of a kingdom had been far more arduous than she would have liked, but the results had been favorable; Metalia could bypass the sacrifice, given enough life energy. Could allow her to cast the curse without losing her father.

It would take time, more time than seemed strictly necessary, fourteen _years_ , for Metalia to gather all of that energy, but there would be an added bonus – if she had been the one to cast it, Snow's child alone would have been able to break it, in time. With Metalia's help, the princess could not possibly do it alone. Would need the help of _five_ others. And the likelihood of the so-called "heroes" finding a way to transport _six_ teenagers into the Land Without Magic was… Not much of a likelihood at all, in her opinion.

It had also meant agreeing that in the realm the curse created, Metalia could feed as much as she needed to exist without true magic, but those living under her own roof were exempt, and, that was enough for her. Her father was safe, she was safe, Snow was miserable. Things could hardly be better. Even once she decided that she wanted a child, that child was safe from Metalia, under the protection of her household. There wasn't really anything else to take into consideration – she had wanted it, and she had done it, brought a child into Storybrooke to raise, named the baby boy after her father – who, of course, had no idea all the deeds that stained her hands, being affected by the curse's memory-altering powers, but that just made it all the more possible for them to be a happy family.

Yes, the child had started to rebel and insist that she was evil, but she would find a way to stamp that out of him, she was certain, given time.

But last night they had lost Morga. Not one of the _stronger_ servants, that the Demon Queen had chosen to come as an energy gatherer in their new paradise, but whatever had happened, whatever the Guardian brat had done, whichever brat it _was_ that had shown up in her town, _this wasn't good_.

So, the moment she had the time, she had headed to the vault. It is her domain, but it is also where the Demon Queen sleeps while her servants work.

They would need a plan, to gather more energy, to make up for the loss of last night in its entirety. And they would need a plan, too, to get rid of this… _Sailor Moon._


	3. Chapter 3

With Henry at school, her mind made up to stay in town, and the knowledge that attacks are more likely to happen at night – yesterday's mid-afternoon attack being the rare exception rather than the rule, at least according to the kid who is her only source of information in all of this – there's not much that Emma can actually do other than peruse the classifieds in the paper for items number one and two on her list of priorities; a place to stay other than Granny's, someplace where she can come and go from, both to fight monsters and to find the other girls out of town, without raising too many suspicions, and a part-time job while she's in town. Again, something that she can come and go from without raising too many questions.

She does this seated once more at the counter of the diner, nursing a mug of hot cocoa with cinnamon; places like this are the best places to get to know a small town. Her position allows her to observe the people that come and go, to see Storybrooke and get a feel for the town and its residents, without raising undue suspicion or drawing too much attention to herself.

She is, for all intents and purposes, a _tourist_ , until it's known that she's staying. A tourist in the diner? Even if tourists are as rare as it has been suggested, in Storybrooke, a tourist in the diner is practically _normal_. At least as far as most small-tourism-towns are concerned, and Storybrooke certainly seems to _believe_ it's a small tourism town – if the _picturesque-but-outdated_ atmosphere and lack of major industry are anything to go by, anyway.

And while she could just as easily browse the paper in the privacy of her rented room, well… It's a nerve center. Possibly _the_ nerve center of the town.

Everybody needs to eat. Cooking for themselves? Optional, especially when there's a so much _easier_ alternative available.

It's basic human nature, because people get busy, or lazy, or bored, or lonely, and they _go out to eat instead of staying home and cooking_ , and, yes, she might be exploiting it a _little_. But there's not a better way to get the lay of the land around here, even if Henry is right and most of the town is clueless about the way things truly are – and she needs to start getting a feel for the routine of this place if she's going to stay.

It's not a good sign that within an hour, she's discovered that, in the morning edition at the very least, there are no jobs, apartments, or other rentals in the classifieds of the paper.

None. Zip. Nada. Zilch. _Zero._

That was the most obvious place to start that part of her search, and the lack of _anything_ is… Not encouraging. To put it mildly.

"You're not going to find whatever it is you're looking for in the Mirror," the waitress, Ruby, speaks, clearly addressing Emma – as there's no one else around with the paper – pausing as she works on brewing a fresh pot of coffee. Yes, she'd come to that conclusion herself. "It's just a biased trash rag."

That was _not_ a conclusion she'd come to – though, admittedly, aside from the article on the attack, she's only read the sparse classifieds. Half a dozen times, to confirm she hadn't missed a listing that would happen to be exactly what she's looking for.

"How so?" The article on the attack had been as factual as it probably could be, given the circumstances. Most of the witnesses had still been unconscious when Emma left, and a kid crying monster is easy to dismiss as traumatized, however truthful their story might be, mysterious heroes captured on film and all.

"The editor, Sydney. He's completely in the mayor's pocket. If she wants mud slung, he's the one that does it. And come on, you can't have missed the puff piece about her under the fold. Hate to call the robbery a good thing, but if it hadn't come along then Regina would have been the headline. Just like _every_ day."

Ah. _That_ kind of biased trash rag. And if Regina holds the paper, she probably has more sway than she should over other departments of the town as well. Seeing how the investigation of the "robbery" goes will be a clue as to her hold on the local law enforcement.

Though – it could always be worse. The kid's testimony about Sailor Moon could have been brushed aside in its entirety to paint her as the attacker instead of the one to fight the attacker back, making her into public enemy number one.

"I wouldn't expect that level of corruption to reach the classifieds?" Honestly, she can't quite see how the mayor controlling the news – or at least having a sycophant in charge of the news outlet, because if she fully controlled it letting the article calling Sailor Moon a hero run wouldn't make _any_ sense – relates to that part of the paper at all. But there's no way Ruby didn't notice _where_ in the paper her attention was focused – and she still brought it up.

"That's _not_ corruption. I'm not sure any of it is, precisely. Still, whether Sydney's actually corrupt or just eager to please his crush, the classifieds is just… Storybrooke. There's nothing here. This place is nothing. Nobody's gonna _move_ or anything. Why bother?" And the woman shakes her head, looking entirely disgusted with the situation. Even with the forewarning from Henry that everyone is miserable here, she hadn't quite expected that sort of open bitterness, not really.

But that's what she's here to fix, right? The reason that she can transform, the reason that Henry even bothered coming to find her. That bitterness, that misery and unhappiness, _Sailor Moon_ is supposed to be able to do something about it.

Which is a pressure that she didn't want or need in her life, but by now she's somewhat used to the fact that things don't go the way that would be most convenient for her. She can deal with this, just like she's dealt with everything else she's been handed – and at least this time, there's the promise of finding out where she comes from at the end of it all.

"And if I was interested in finding a place to stay of my own here in town?"

"Like… Staying for the kid?" Ruby raises an eyebrow in her direction, her tone barely masking her _bafflement_ at the idea of someone wanting to stay in Storybrooke. "You _could_ just extend your stay at Granny's indefinitely. You're not gonna find a house. There's a couple apartment buildings in town, but if they have anywhere for rent… Well, you'd actually have to go down there to find out. They know they're not getting anyone by putting it in the paper. No one _comes here._ Let alone moves here."

There's a thinly-veiled _run while you have the chance_ in that sentence, but Emma ignores it. _The chance_ pretty much left her the moment she took the bait and tried to transform to prove that she couldn't – and was wrong.

"Yeah, for the kid," she agrees, even though that's only part of it. It's the path of least resistance, in getting people to stop questioning why she'd be willing to come to Storybrooke. It's convenient, and there _is_ truth to it – no matter how much else is at play. "And if you have any tips about jobs, those would be appreciated."

"The arcade," Ruby answers her, not even pausing to think. "It's on Park, a couple blocks north. David needs help there, even if he doesn't know how to ask for it."

…

" **Crescent Beam!** "

The shouted attack catches its unsuspecting target off-guard, giving their unseen assailant the upper hand – foe blinded by the flash of light that her magic created, the urban legend known as Sailor V manages to get close enough to her target to actually physically knock them out.

Legally speaking, she's a vigilante, but, then again, legally speaking her targets don't actually exist. It's a funny little gray area, that.

The Evil Queen probably hadn't known exactly what she was doing, taking such a long time to unleash her Curse after announcing, _very publicly_ , that she was going to cast it, and ruin everyone's lives except her own. Ways between worlds were rare, true, but if she had thought that the worst of the worst wouldn't find a way to save their own skin rather than let her _trap them in time_ and _make them permanently miserable_ , boy, had she been delusional. Or, if not the worst of the worst exactly, those with the means to find a way across and the selfishness (or self-preservation instincts?) to get out and save their own skin.

This guy, he hadn't even had _magic_ back home, hadn't been anyone even particularly notorious. A footnote in their land's history, if that. But he'd been rich, which is probably how he managed to make his way across realms before the curse hit. In this world, he'd adapted his criminal activities and built a new empire.

The cops already had a warrant for his current false identity. She was just knocking him out before he could run and set himself up another new life. Honest. He already had a bag and new fake I.D.s packed when she showed up and everything. Okay, and _maybe_ she was _also_ rummaging through his things for evidence of the Enchanted Forest to remove from the premises _before_ some cop found it and possibly activated a terrible magical artifact leaving them with some ancient curse on their head on account of not knowing what they had on their hands.

Sleeping curses and their ilk weren't exactly easily identified or countered in the Enchanted Forest, after all, and cops seemingly dropping dead after touching a sharp but otherwise unremarkable antique would be the kind of thing that would be almost impossible to fix _here_.

August insists that only she and the others will have magic here, in the Land Without, and no matter how cursed an artifact is there is _no way_ it could hurt someone as long as it wasn't anywhere near the Evil Queen's playground, but, better safe than sorry, if you ask her.

She doesn't find much, this time – a few baubles and jewels, _glittering_ with fairy dust diamonds – but she takes it anyway, just to be sure – because who _hasn't_ heard stories about cursed rings or necklaces? – before returning to her motel room as discreetly as possible and dropping her transformation, letting Sailor V fade back into the deepest parts of Aurora.

She hates the way de-transforming feels. Like being sapped of all her strength, her magic so far out of her grasp as to be untouchable. Her talisman still gives her the ability to channel her transformation, yes. But it's different in this place than it was back home – when they were training, the magic was always there, in the very _air_ , at their beck and call transformed or not.

They had more power and precision transformed. But they _always_ had magic. It was a benefit of the blessing that made them Guardians – back home, it was a benefit. Here, not feeling that when she isn't fighting is like losing one of her _senses_ , as overdramatic as that sounds _._

A glance around the room confirms _exactly_ what she suspected she would find on her return, when she left: August is there, waiting, like he always does when she's out fighting, and she rolls her eyes at the way he stares at the diamonds when she sets them on the nightstand. She'll have to find somewhere much, _much_ safer for them, soon, but for the moment there isn't anything else to be done.

"You did good out there tonight," he praises, _like he always does_ , and she wonders if he actually expects her to act like nothing had changed the last time she had actually gone out, three months ago, when she had come up against _Maleficent_ and her _memories_ had broken through the haze of her mind.

The Dark Fairy couldn't shift into her dragon form here, _fortunately_ , had no spells or minions or tricks to give her the upper hand, was just as subject to being in the Land Without Magic as anyone could be – but childhood fear of falling victim to the same sleeping curse as her mother had very nearly lost Sailor V the battle.

"Emma's birthday was days ago," she reminds, and she doubts he didn't know it himself. " _When_ are we going to find the others and do what we came here to do, Pinocchio?"

"Things are in motion." He's frowning, probably because she used his real name, and, well, _good_. When they were young and in training, he had been like an older brother to them – to Emma, especially. But she _knows_ that there's something he's not telling her, because he had come through to this world too, _somehow_ , and he had done it with his memories intact, unlike the rest of them, and he had told her she had power and given her back her talisman and molded her into Sailor V, knowing all the while _everything_ that she had forgotten. Everything that she truly was.

 _V_. He hadn't even bothered to tell her that she was, properly, Sailor _Venus_. Had only recruited her, _once time was almost up_ , to be _V_.

Would he have _ever_ told her, if she hadn't remembered?

She doesn't like what her gut tells her about that any more than she likes his constant _stalling_ about getting the others now that she does remember. They were supposed to start unravelling the Dark Curse on Emma's 28th birthday – two days ago. The twenty-third day of the tenth month.

 _We still have work to do out here, away from the town the Curse created_ , he'd said first, when it had devolved into a shouting match about a week after she knew who she was. Lately, when he bothers showing up at all, it's just _things are in motion_.

Not from her perspective, they're not.

…

The arcade actually pleasantly surprises her, when she finds it.

It's clean, well-lit, clearly stocked full of games with titles… Actually pretty recent, and even the ones that aren't brand-new are big names. Aside from the games, there's an entire area of booths on the same side of the room as the counter, and there are quite a few college-aged kids sitting at said booths, or the counter, drinking milkshakes or coffee, with maybe a burger and fries, as they type away at laptops.

The place even has a sticker on the door proclaiming there's free Wi-Fi, the only such sticker she's seen in town.

All of which makes for a good first impression, especially with Ruby's claims that it's all run by one man.

Never actually having been to an arcade before – with foster families uninterested in letting the kids that were little more than a paycheck to them go somewhere that would cost them money like that, and a lack of time, reason, or interest once she was on her own – she's not actually sure what she expected.

It wasn't this, though.

She makes her way to the counter, sitting at the first open seat she finds; while they aren't hard to come by, exactly, the crowd already gathered _has_ taken everything close to the doors.

There, she waits for a few minutes before noticing when a man, probably around the same age as Mary Margaret, stands from behind one of the machines, which plays a little tune like it's turning on, and makes his way behind the counter, toolbox in hand. Though he wears no nametag, he must be the David that Ruby spoke of – it's the obvious conclusion.

He is just as strangely familiar to her as Mary Margaret, and for a moment she doubts that she should go through with this course of action. Only for a moment; there is no reason that this sort of almost-recognition should dissuade her. Rather, she should take it as a _good_ thing – Henry's theory is that if she gathers the others and breaks the curse, anyone in this town will regain their memories. He's not as sure about her own memories, since she _wasn't cursed_ , but even if they _don't_ come back, people that she almost-remembers should remember her.

Logically speaking, anyway.

So when he arrives in front of her, asking if he can get her anything, she has thoroughly pushed that glimmer of doubt aside.

"Ruby at Granny's said you might be looking to hire some help."

…

 _Find me, find the Silver Crystal and find me. Help me. I need you._

He doesn't usually sleep in the middle of the day, but that he dreams of the girl, shrouded in darkness and yet _radiating_ light, is no surprise. She haunts him, always.

This time, though, was different. Just before he woke, there was another image – a white wolf, bi-colored eyes, a forest that was neither Storybrooke's nor the one in which he first remembers waking. While his dreams of the girl are always tinged with a _need to help her_ , the other image, the wolf, fills him with a sort of melancholic nostalgia, like it's somehow a memory of something he had held dear and lost.

But he doesn't know for certain. Just as he doesn't know how he'll find the girl or the crystal that she asks for.

"Someone didn't get enough sleep last night, then."

And no, he hadn't, though he cannot account for the why or the how of it. He does not recall tossing and turning, lying awake. And yet, put simply – when he awoke, it was as though he had not slept at all. As such, he does not bother to correct the observation, for even as the unsubtle attempt at conversation is unwelcome— it is true.

And a response is what the observer expects, most likely, so it is best not to rise to the bait. He has maintained careful distance from others since arriving in this place; to change that course _now_ , simply because he's _tired_ , would make no sense.

Though he stays, he remains apart.

No amount of prodding on Granny's part, no matter how well intentioned, can do anything about the fact that most people make him uncomfortable and always have. It may be a lonely existence, but it works for him— and most days he isn't falling asleep in the middle of the diner, anyway.

Though he is persistent in his silence, coffee is placed in front of him, unasked for, already in a to-go cup.

"That should at least get you home for a rest, child. Don't know what you're doing here in the first place, tired as you are."

He doesn't know either, not really. It's something of a habit – as much of a loner as he is, he still has lunch at the diner daily, a routine he doesn't stray from. Get up, go to the shelter and do what he can for the animals there, have lunch at the diner, spend his afternoons doing the volunteer work that Mary Margaret conned him into, teaching the kids about the woods around their town – go back to his small apartment, have dinner alone, fall asleep and have that same dream.

None of it is exactly glamourous, but it's a life. His life.

"You didn't need to do that," he breaks his silence in the objection, but… He doesn't like the attention. The act of _care_ throws him; it always has, from the very first time he actually remembers even the slightest hint of _concern_ being directed at him.

Neither _care_ nor _concern_ has been in abundance, the past fourteen years, but every instance has left him off-balance – like he's waiting for something worse to balance it out.

 _Trust issues_ , the social worker had said about his wary nature when it came to having care or concern directed at him, gone on about how it was _common in abandoned children._ He hadn't asked if the _girls with names_ had exhibited similar degrees of mistrust in others; he wasn't supposed to know about them in the first place. He suspected he wouldn't have gotten a straight answer about it, anyway.

"Don't be ridiculous. Bad for business to have you asleep in the middle of the diner."

He attempts a grateful smile, wrapping his hands around the warm cup. "Then I suppose I should thank you and get out of your hair." Takes a sip, letting the coffee start to do its job.

Even as he walks from the diner to his apartment, he tries to keep an eye out for more changes, more evidence that things are different. He's not the only one that noticed the clock tower, and that makes him more certain than earlier that there must be _something_ going on.

And then for the first time all day, he sees the picture and headline splashed across the front of the _Mirror_ , on a copy that someone had left on the bench just outside his building. It's the picture that draws his attention – the woman.

 _Sailor Moon_.

That is a change.

…

David seems nice, Emma has decided. A little harried, but willing both to hire her _and_ let her set her own hours, no questions asked. Maybe it's a little too convenient, but it works. For the moment, anyway.

And that marks one item off her to-do list, leaving "find a place other than Granny's" and "start looking for Belle" as priorities one and two. She may wait to confer with Henry on ideas to find Belle; he had, after all, both found _her_ and been the one to suggest Belle should be their next recruit. Finding people may normally be her livelihood, and she might be a loner. But she has help – even if he is _ten_ – and she doesn't _want_ to face this whole Guardian thing alone. It's too much, and she'll admit that it will be a relief to have a team.

But _for now_ , she does have Granny's, and she does have the contact information for the office of her former social worker. And while she doesn't expect trying to call the woman who put her in a system she ran away from will yield much information about the other girls that were found with her – well, it's the only potential lead that she has.

She just… Well. Has to figure out the best angle to come at a conversation from to get information. Somehow, just telling the woman that she thinks she's found a link to the origins of the five of them that were found that day, and that she's looking to contact the others in order to look into it _together_ , doesn't seem like it will go over believably enough to work. Particularly not coming from a place of being the one that ran away.

What she _needs_ is her laptop – securely in her apartment in Boston. With it, and the arcade's Wi-Fi, she could probably get in some decent research of the public records that would have surrounded the five of them, possibly come up with a plan for the phone call that, at this point, she may have to make. If the town's library wasn't closed, she would check there for a public computer with internet access.

As it is, she knows she's low on options. Call without a plan. Wait and hope Henry has an idea.

Drive to Boston and back, _today_ , to pick up her things. Not the worst idea – she didn't exactly pack a bag, having intended to drive as long as it took and be back in Boston, never to see Storybrooke again, more than a full day ago.

Not the best idea either. Her leaving town when she has a room for a week would be noticed by Granny and Ruby, _at least_ , and it's getting close to noon— At four hours there and four hours back, that will mean Henry doesn't get to have the _Operation Rabbit_ meeting he'd thought they should have once he got out of school, possibly thinks she's changed her mind about staying. It also doesn't take into account potential traffic – potentially _rush hour traffic_ – or the time it would take to pack up what clothes and things she needs and load it into the car. Or stopping to eat.

Tack on an hour for a rushed lunch and fast-food dinner, and an hour to pack, and she doesn't get back to Storybrooke, if she leaves now, until near ten at night, at the soonest – when there's potential for a monster to strike at literally any moment, especially once the sun goes down.

No. Not the best idea. Better saved for when she has a better idea where she'll be making her base of operations.

…

When Henry walks out of school, his plan is to try and find Emma. She knows when the school day ends; making his way through town to find her should be easy enough. If all else had failed, the backup plan of waiting at the castle _had_ to work. They need to discuss Operation Rabbit, and make a plan!

But when he gets out of school, his grandpa is waiting at the gates.

He _likes_ Grandpa Henry. He does. Even if he doesn't believe his mom loves him, he believes Grandpa Henry does.

But Grandpa picking him up greatly reduces his chances of meeting Emma without his mom finding out – and she will _freak_ if she finds out about Emma being Sailor Moon, about the fact that they're working to break the curse. She already confiscated his book and found the missing pages about the Guardians. Well, not the _actual_ pages. Those are stashed in his backpack, to give to Emma later. But she found that pages were missing and demanded to know where they got to – and she must want those pages because she _knows_ what she'll find on them: the identity of the five girls who can and will break the curse.

So. He just has to get Grandpa to let down his guard and let him out of sight… Or get Grandpa in on Operation Rabbit. From the book, he knows Grandpa didn't think the curse should be cast, though with it in place, convincing him that it's real and should be broken is probably more trouble than it's worth.

Leaving him with Plan A: gain Grandpa's _unquestioning_ trust.

"Is something wrong, Grandpa?" The question makes sense – _rarely_ does someone collect him from school. His mom can't be bothered, and Grandpa is usually something of a shut-in, staying in the house because it's more comfortable than running around town and he's not in _perfect_ health.

"You've run off two days in a row, now. Your mother didn't think you should be left to walk home without escort."

Yeah. He thought it was something like that. Including the unspoken bit where "she's a very busy woman who couldn't possibly spare the time to deal with him herself."

"I wasn't gonna run off again." Emma is still in town, after all. He doesn't have to go and bring her back. Not like he'd thought he might yesterday, when it'd seemed like all she wanted to do was drop him off and then go back to Boston and never look back.

Has to sneak around town and meet up with her, yes, but he's perfectly capable of doing that without pulling a vanishing act.

"And she didn't insist anyone get me _to_ school."

"Yes, well, the school would have called her if you didn't show up today, after what's happened of late. Once school was out would be the greater chance for you to disappear. Shall we head home?"

He doesn't have much choice in the matter, he knows, and he nods, falling silent because _gain Grandpa's trust_ means he can't fight this. He thinks about asking if they can stop at Granny's for hot cocoa – maybe Emma's there and he can slip her a message – but decides against it. This is punishment for running, clearly, and while Grandpa is usually a pushover when it comes to getting things he wants, asking for a treat during a punishment is more than a little obviously a _bad idea_.

He's not stupid. He'll be on his best behavior, and find another way to get to Emma. Because he has to – because nothing will get _better_ if he doesn't. Storybrooke depends on Emma. On Sailor Moon and the Guardians.

He needs to help— He _must_. The book appeared to _him_. That has to count for something, right?

After a block or two, he attempts to divert attention away from himself.

"Paige said that she saw a monster at the jewelry store last night."

"Paige was exaggerating, most likely." Grandpa Henry… Didn't have his answer at the ready. He _hesitated_. Does he know something more than what the Curse should mean he knows? Probably not – but it's a thought that requires further investigation.

"Why would she do that?"

"Because she witnessed an attack. One which was, if the report in the Mirror is anything to go by, violent enough that your friend was the only witness left conscious – and only because someone else interfered and put a stop to things. Seeing something that violent can do funny things to memory."

"But how could a normal thief take down that many adults before Sailor Moon showed up?"

He should leave it alone. He knows that he shouldn't have kept talking the moment he starts to speak; pressing his luck with Grandpa, pressing the idea of the Curse on Grandpa – it'll just make it back to his mom, that he's doing it, at this point. Still, he asks. A _normal thief_ doesn't make as much sense as a monster – the fact that he knows the truth aside.

"They're still investigating that, Henry. But there will be an answer – one that doesn't involve a monster. You'll see."

…

When the sun sets, she's made no further progress on any of her tasks. When she had headed in the general direction of the school, assuming Henry was out and they could have a meeting about strategy, however quickly, she had seen he was with the older gentleman the mayor had introduced as her father, when Emma had first gotten Henry home.

She makes a decision, as the sun dips below the horizon.

She puts the "do not disturb" sign on her door, holds the brooch tightly, and transforms, using the window as an exit to head to higher ground and keep an eye- or ear- out for monsters.

The rooftops of Storybrooke don't exactly provide _excellent_ cover, or much at all, but they're _something_. And not many of the people she sees are bothering to look up in the first place – meaning that she's not likely to be spotted unless she actively tries to draw attention to herself.

The first hour of her patrol, she sticks close to the main roads. Greater population means more effective place to attack, if the monsters are trying to gather energy, like Henry suggested before her fight with Morga. More people means more energy, it's simple logic.

The second hour, she widens her circuit around town, just in case. The third, she begins to wonder if, on other nights to come, she'll be able to find and prevent attacks without an all-night patrol to maybe stumble across them as they happen. If there will be a way to predict them – or at least to reach them sooner, before any civilians get knocked out.

As the town clock tower strikes midnight, her transformation-enhanced-hearing picks up something that sounds more like breaking glass than anything else. It's followed by indistinct swearing and a hiss that definitely doesn't come from a human being.

So she, again, follows the sound, being lead to a bar with signage proclaiming it _The Rabbit Hole_. One of the front windows has been smashed from the inside, and through it she can see a snake-like green creature, its tongue flickering as it takes in the scene before it.

She can't, through the window, see any of the bar's patrons.

She doesn't make the same sort of entrance this time, doesn't kick down the door. Walks through like it's a normal night and she's come in for a drink or two.

The thing looks like a giant cobra, except for in coloration, a dark but vibrant emerald green – and in the fact that it has a pair of arms on what would be the upper body, were it a more humanoid creature. Despite the noise of the door being opened, it doesn't look up at her right away, instead grabbing one of its victims off the floor, dragging the man up towards its fanged face. Pays no attention as the door swings shut behind her, as her heeled boots click across the floor closer to it. The tiara is a ranged weapon – though she doesn't know if it will be as effective against whatever this thing is as it was on Morga. Still, she'd rather the creature's attention was on her than on the innocent.

"I guess you monsters didn't get the memo, then."

The thing pauses. Drops the man from its hands, twisting to see her. Flicks its tongue again.

"One Guardian might get lucky against Morga," it states, voice rasping, "But Morga was weak and thought too highly of herself. There is only one of you. You cannot keep on indefinitely. Even if I fall, another will take my place. And another. And another. You will fail. Alone."

The tail is longer, faster, and more easily maneuvered than she would have guessed, whipping out and catching her behind the legs, causing her to lose her footing. She rolls out of the way when it turns back to attempt to crush her, scrambling to her feet again. It becomes a matter of dodging – just like it was with Morga – until she scrambles behind the bar, where there's no room to be knocked off her feet again.

The tail slams down on the counter, repeatedly, either attempting to hit _her_ or throwing some kind of tantrum because she's just out of reach no matter how the thing moves around the room, but with all the flailing she's not sure that she can get a good shot in with the tiara. Could the tail deflect her weapon away? She doesn't _know_ – and she doesn't want the answer to be yes. So she remains in position, her tiara at the ready in her hand, waiting for her chance—

Until something whistles through the air, and, with a series of thuds, the tail is pinned to the bar counter by five roses, identical to the ones that the mystery man in full formalwear threw yesterday. Her eyes follow what must have been their trajectory to see him by the broken window, a smirk on his face.

So. He's going to keep showing up to these things, then? Fine by her, as long as he keeps helping. She acknowledges his help with a nod – and then she turns her eyes away from him, releases the tiara towards the monster, which, like Morga, turns to dust in a flash of light on contact.

When she looks back to where he was, he's gone, his roses still in the counter the only proof he was ever there. Then again, his job here is done – and so is hers.

She leaves the way she came, out the front door and back up to the rooftops – and doesn't notice any of the unfriendly eyes that watched the confrontation from the shadows.


End file.
